


You chose your journey long before

by JustSemiotics



Series: The Leonard Cohen Variations [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Godfather Sherlock, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Or just a little bit of comfort, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 13:58:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9184765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSemiotics/pseuds/JustSemiotics
Summary: "He finds her gun five days after the funeral."John after he events of The Six Thatcher.





	

He finds her gun five days after the funeral. An impressive piece of work, designed with a purpose in mind. He holds it in his outstretched hand, steady, while he imagines smaller fingers following the outline of the trigger. Her hands were surprisingly rough for a woman, scarred and callused. He had wondered so often. The smell of gun powder is just a faint hint. She hadn’t fired a shot in Morocco, had she? He cannot remember much, just taking her hand before Sherlock had interrupted. So small and fitting perfectly. His finger flutters around the trigger. 

He wonders why she hadn’t taken the gun with her or if she had and it had made its way back to the flat. He wonders about so many things these days, yet does not want to know. There is a file on the living room table, the content looking like CCTV tapes, and why would you need those in an aquarium anyway? Greg had come to tell him but he had escorted him out politely, amidst the „Sorry“, and „So sad’s“. He does not want to know. In another life, he would have made a wager that whatever had happened beneath the jellyfish cannot be worse than his dreams. He is not so sure about that now. At least the floor is rough under his bare thighs, the edge of the drawer cutting into his back. 

Her wound had been messy where Sherlock’s had been neat. He had tried, once, to remember her as she had been in her last moments, but he could only ever get glimpses, like forensic photos shots. The smear of blood on her cheek. Her white trainers, framed by police tape. 

He picks at the green paint on the drawer, his knuckles still hurting. There had been some shattered urns in a funeral home when the director had asked if „Mary Watson“ would be all of the engraving. The stone he had chosen was small, a sleek black one the gun reminds him of. In the end, he hadn’t gone to the funeral he had prepared. 

He supposed that Greg had dealt with his rampages. There was a newspaper stand that got smashed the day after the funeral, it had it coming. A picture on nearly every front page: The back of Rosie’s head, protected by grey wool and large hands. There are dust motes on the floor of the bedroom, but they do not speak to him like they do to Sherlock. He starts to draw lines with his toes. 

Morocco was the first time he saw her holding a gun. They never went shooting together and he would have declined it had she ever offered, but now he finds the thought intriguing. Sitting on the sofa, discussing shooting techniques and the latest trends in mufflers. Her hands guiding him on the shooting range, both of them aiming for precision and perfection. He would never ask Sherlock about her last moments. The dust he has gathered in his hand has paperclips and a yellow sock in it. 

The gun wavers in front of his eyes, smooth and much too large. He wonders whether the noise would wake Rosie. She has slept surprisingly well these last nights. If he can find the other sock they can get dressed after her nap. Maybe they can stand on the front patio and wave at the passing cars for a bit. She would like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little stream of conscious fic, inspired by Season 4 and the song Winter Lady by Leonard Cohen (title taken from this song).
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful beta! <3
> 
> No, seriously, listen to Winter Lady, it's very fitting (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wf5NN3oanzE) :
> 
> "Trav'ling lady, stay awhile  
> until the night is over.  
> I'm just a station on your way,  
> I know I'm not your lover.  
> Well I lived with a child of snow  
> when I was a soldier,  
> and I fought every man for her  
> until the nights grew colder.
> 
> And why are you so quiet now  
> standing there in the doorway?  
> You chose your journey long before  
> you came upon this highway."

**Author's Note:**

> A little stream of conscious fic, inspired by Season 4 and the song Winter Lady by Leonard Cohen (title taken from this song).
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful beta! <3
> 
> No, seriously, listen to Winter Lady, it's very fitting (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wf5NN3oanzE) : 
> 
> "Trav'ling lady, stay awhile  
> until the night is over.  
> I'm just a station on your way,  
> I know I'm not your lover.  
> Well I lived with a child of snow  
> when I was a soldier,  
> and I fought every man for her  
> until the nights grew colder. 
> 
> And why are you so quiet now  
> standing there in the doorway?  
> You chose your journey long before  
> you came upon this highway."


End file.
